Doing anger like Jesus

Certain books in the Bible strike me as surprising. There are a lot of surprises in the Bible. If all you remember are your Sunday school versions, you may want to sit down with it again. It will make you laugh, cry, nod your head, raise an eyebrow.

I'm not sure I would have ever taken the Bible seriously without the book of Ecclesiastes in it. One of my struggles, especially in the past, was an overwhelming sense of life's meaningless. While I feel healed of this existential crisis, the very fact that Solomon wrote about it in such flat terms kept a door open to me.

In the past, I have nodded my head appreciatively at the idea that Jesus can feel our pain~~that he knows our struggles, that he has been there. But I'm not sure I totally believed it. I struggle with anger. I can really take things personally. When my children opt to spend their whole day ignoring me, or when they spend the day screaming at each other (all of these are~~slight~~exaggerations), or any number of angering behaviors and failures on my own part, I sometimes quake with an inner rage that reminds me of how much I struggle at times to maintain a finger on the pulse of reasonableness.

Then, I get all existential. My old fallback position. Why, God? Why have you placed me here? Didn't you need more doctors in the world? Why is mothering so hard?? Why has my life come down to this very moment?! You probably think this all sounds petty, but I don't just take it personally. I take it personally in an existential sense, as though God just isn't on my side.

So I've thought to myself, Alright, Jesus, you supposedly understand our trials. But the only anger I could remember him having was justified anger. Anger about the moneychangers in the temple, when he heads in and overturns all their tables in a rage. It is a very human moment, but it is a very justifiable moment. As much as I appreciate this show of human anger, there's a purpose. My anger often doesn't have a compelling one, and I really have to struggle to control it at times. My anger doesn't necessarily "have a point."

Then I remembered the fig tree. Scrambling to the 11th chapter of Mark, I realized that this oft overlooked story spoke deeply into my own struggles, in its simple and understated way.

12The next day as they were leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry. 13Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to find out if it had any fruit. When he reached it, he found nothing but leaves, because it was not the season for figs. 14Then he said to the tree, "May no one ever eat fruit from you again." And his disciples heard him say it...

19When evening came, they went out of the city.

20In the morning, as they went along, they saw the fig tree withered from the roots. 21Peter remembered and said to Jesus, "Rabbi, look! The fig tree you cursed has withered!"

22"Have faith in God," Jesus answered.

This portion is just for me. I mean, it may be just for you too. But it speaks into my heart that Jesus gets it. He really does. I can so relate to his annoyance in that moment. That exasperation with the basic reality that "it was not the season for figs." Even though he was hungry. So he took it out on the plant. Not a human. Not God. But the plant. And they pointed out the results of his anger, and Jesus answered, "Have faith in God." I'm sure there are more meaningful ways to interpret this, but this version is enough for me for now.

Blast the fig tree. Have faith in God.